


Touch it.

by Negative_pines_creep



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After that???, F/M, Fuck it I'm going to the dark side, Fuck it I'm working for Tom Riddle, Hogwarts years, Holy shit though what if i was slytherin, I'm not really sure, POV Second Person, Probably going to be a hufflepuff when i get to Hogwarts, They're only 10 years old at the start chile, Y/N has she/her pronouns, i hate the marauders tbh, like James was so fucking mean???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Negative_pines_creep/pseuds/Negative_pines_creep
Summary: Under your touch the beautiful red roses in your garden grew lush. Under your touch the sick, trembling, shaking birds nursed back to health. Under your touch, un-explainable things happened. You had a magic touch. A wizard's touch. When this touch is discovered by a young Severus Snape, it leads you down a whirlwind of romantic pain and painful romance, at Hogwarts, a Hogwarts that was brutal and dark and festering in malice, a malice that was only made better by the boy who would make it even worse.
Relationships: Severus Snape & Reader, Severus Snape & You, Severus Snape/Reader, Severus Snape/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Touch it.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written anything Harry Potter before, and I'm quite a young writer, you know, in-experience and everything, so lol, I guess, just don't expect too much from this fanfiction. But anyway, hopefully you can enjoy this, I've always sympathized with Snape the most.

The grass was so much greener on this side. It was more lush, it was more bright, it was less brittle and less dry. You spent more time on this side of the local village, you tried to ignore the houses on the other side, the houses that were too posh, you tried to ignore the people that were too stuck-up, the people that were too snobby. It wasn’t much of a life you lived, but you could call it your own, at least.

Your own life. The only life you had to live. The only life you had been gifted with, here you were, spending it in the small, run-down village you had been born in, Spinner’s end, Great Britain, 1971. It was a slightly dreary, grey day outside, but the weakened-down sun still filtered through the clouds. There was a red rose bush flowering nearby your quiet spot, beautiful and pure in it’s nature.

You crouched down by it, extending out your hands. It didn’t always happen. It didn’t always work. But sometimes, when something just happened to click in your persona, there! One singular rose grew. Not by much, not even by a fraction that was really externally noticeable, but it still grew. It turned slightly more reddened, the petals grew slightly more extravagant.

You didn’t know what it was in your special touch, but, for some reason, the flowers, especially the roses, just listened to you sometimes. They were the closest things you had to a friend, the most beautiful things you could call your own in this silly little life. You then stood up again from the rose bush, dusting off the slight brushes of dirt littering your monotone, dreary clothes.

When you turned around from the red rose bush that bloomed, you noticed there was a boy facing you with a slightly curious look. Thin, pale, with black drapes of greasy, un-heathy looking hair, and small, beady facial features, almost soft but also sharpened with something quite dark. The face didn’t strike a particular name in you, but you could recognize the poor stance and shabby clothes.

You had seen this boy around your town before, and you had seen him in much worse states than this; teeth messing, hair all messy, clothes all ripped and faded. He seemed fine now. No outward-appearing bruises or scrapes, no outward-appearing cuts or black eyes. The boy’s eyes met yours, almost staring into your very soul. It made you feel slightly uncomfortable for some reason, so you glanced away, and too feel better like you always did, you glanced back at the rose you had tampered with.

“I saw what you did with the rose. It’s alright. I understand. You don’t have to be ashamed of it. You don’t have to hide it. You’re magic, just like me.” His voice didn’t quiver with any emotion, it was just so flat and empty it was almost eerie. “The roses listen to me. I don’t know why.” You whispered that back in response, song-birds chirping far off in the ringing tone of silence between you and the pale boy.

“The roses listening to you is magic. I understand this. It’s a gift. And it’s been given to you.” “What gift? What do you mean? And why?” The pale boy stepped closer, shrugging his frail, weak shoulders. “No one really knows why we have this gift. Suppose it’s a calling. A talent, really.” He looked slightly happier at those words, you could sense they brought some fraction of comfort for him. Why though, you had no idea.

Maybe he had nothing else to call his own in this silly little life.

“I don’t feel like I deserve this talent, if that’s what you call it. I don’t understand this talent. And I don’t want this talent. I’m scared and confused by it sometimes, honestly.” You were scared and confused by the offensive, rude names the kids labelled your rose trick, to be exact. The kids were always so mean. The kids were always the ones to laugh and point fingers. The un-named, thin, pale-looking boy stepped closer towards you, standing by your side. You should’ve been cautious or apprehensive of strangers, but you had seen him around before, and you had to admit, he wasn’t the most threatening of faces at all.

“There’s no reason to be scared. The talent is bettering you. Can you do it again? Can you use your talent again? Can you make the magic again?” You leant down, focusing on a different red rose. The talent didn’t come. The talent didn’t flow through your fingers. The talent didn’t appear. “It’s gone. It’s gone!” There was slight panic in your voice, you thought of this talent as the only special thing to your name.

“There’s no need to worry, sometimes it does that. It doesn’t mean it’s forever gone. It’s uncontrollable, you see, especially at this young age.” You didn’t know what the heck to say to that statement, so you glanced at the antique watch on your wrist instead. The miniscule minutes hand flicked up to just past five in the dying afternoon, which correlated with the sun beginning to set in the flowery distance.

The un-named boy was still staring at you, perhaps waiting for a confirmation you believed in his strange, un-unusual words. “Who are you? And why are you here? Why do you know about this gift?” “I’m here because I noticed your talent. My name is Severus Snape. I have the same talent as you do.” “You can talk to the roses as well?” The boy almost smiled, his chilly breaths mingling with yours, the both of you standing on top of a hill where the grass was always greener.

“No, my talent manifests in different ways. We’re both still special though. We’re both magic.” You stepped away slightly, worried for the boy’s mind. He seemed a bit mental. “Magic isn’t real though, isn’t it? And it sounds like you’re bragging. I don’t like the tone of pride in your voice.” The boy, supposedly Severus Snape, looked away in shame, curling his frail hands.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that at all. I don’t want to paint myself like a God. We’re just special, that’s all it is. Special in different ways” You smiled at his apology, nodding your head to his now humbleness and sincerity. And it was a small, insignificant, and shy smile, but still, he smiled back, the first time he had probably smiled in months, due to his loneliness and his dreariness.

“I should be heading home now, but I don’t like the people I return to. It feels like no one understands me or my gift.” The boy stated then, toes curling in his shabby shoes. “We can stay here then. I trust you with this. We can stay here away from everyone else. Until dinner time. I always have to be back before dinner time.” “Ok then.” “Ok then.”

An awkward silence intruded, with you plucking out the red rose you had grown in the rose bush. You handed it to him, the first genuine, friendly gift he had ever received in his entire life. He took it from you gently, brushing his pale right thumb upon the sharp thorns. “Is this for me? Thank you so much.” “It’s a gift for you. It’s nothing special, but considering I’m only ten, I love flowers and nothing more.”

Severus Snape twirled the rose in his hand, the beautiful red color whirling around and around in the air until it blurred into a blood swirl. “I think it’s a lovely gift for you to give. Thank you.” You extended your hand out, and he took it, his own hand so bony and un-nourished. “My name is Y/N. I live down in the village. I’m ten years old, as you can tell. My father is a mechanic and my mother died of an un-explained illness years ago. I still remember her, but not really. She liked to bake a lot. I still have her recipes.”

The boy Severus nodded his head slowly, processing this information. “My name is Severus Snape, like I just told you before. I also live down in the village. I’m also the same age as you. I don’t have many friends to my name or many good achievements to my name either. I find my life lonely and dull.”

“Well, Severus, I don’t expect you to have any achievements. You’re only ten, after all. You still have plenty of time to achieve things.” He sighed silently, folding his pale arms over his even weaker knees. “I don’t want my life to be a waste, Y/N. I don’t like it very much.” You stared out into the distance, wind toying with your recently-combed, recently-washed hair.

“I can relate with you. I don’t like this place much. It’s cold and damp and depressing and annoying.” “At least we have that in common. One day, me and you, we’ll escape this place. We’re magic, we’ll both make amazing lives for ourselves. Just wait and see. I promise. You just have to wait for your invitation to Hogwarts, and then we’ll be whisked away into the excitement and joy..”

You didn’t know what Hogwarts was, and you were too apprehensive to found out. You just went along with his words, shivering as a cold, local breeze swept over you.

It was slightly creepy that the wind had suddenly started blowing out of nowhere, like a sign you had to be cautious of your immediate surroundings. Cautious of Severus Snape? Why? He seemed like a perfectly normal young boy to you. “That does sound promising, magic and all, I guess...” “It is promising, trust me on this.” “How do I know I can trust you?” “Because we only have each other.”

You slightly frowned at him, but his words rung true. It was just you and him. It was just you and Severus Snape. In Spinner’s end, which was only really just the beginning of a world riddled in magic and in pain and in romance. The roses watched on, as the two of you discussed life into the dying night…


End file.
